


An Ever After

by ajfessler



Category: Original Work
Genre: 19th Century, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Bondage, Christianity, Crossdressing, F/M, Fiction, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Order Giving, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original work - Freeform, Threesome - F/M/M, Victorian Attitudes, polymory, very light
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 21:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12442395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajfessler/pseuds/ajfessler
Summary: At seventeen Darcy Drynes learns the world is a cruel place and vows to be different. At twenty-three he has a chance encounter with the elegant Lizbette Hemmingway who offers him the world on a silver platter, so long as he's willing to do just what she says when she says it. The relationship that follows is one of trust, compassion, subterfuge, and to everyone's surprise eventually love. Even the war-wounded gruff gentleman of Henry Hemmingway can't manage to stand fast in the face of such charming guile. Of course, it helps that Darcy couldn't care less so long as they are kind.





	An Ever After

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream, and I've been rather disenfranchised with my fandoms. I am still working on several of my WIP. Notably Something of Worth and How Does The Garden Grow. But I wanted something with feel goods and charm that had the absolute freedom of zero expectations to meet. I know the majority of you aren't here for this sort of thing but I would appreciate any feedback you might see fit to give. 
> 
> Cheers!  
> -Aj
> 
> P.S. This hasn't been edited, beta'd, or grammar checked. All mistakes are mine.

1893 - July

The court room was stifling. Worse still was the saturated, cloying air of the main drag compounded with the unrelenting punishment of the mid-summer sun. Darcy Drynes had grown up in Charlestown, this was nothing. At least here, in charming Hemmingway, there was the unspoken promise of relief upon the end of day when storms would roll through. Washing away the cloying dust for a moment. Only for the cycle to repeat the next morning. Darcy sighed watching the visitor pews slowly fill with curious gawkers. A flock of brightly hued starlings twittering obnoxiously one over top the next. It was like they had never seen a deviant before, the way they converged and chattered noisily. Excitement palpable in every gesture and greeting. 

Shifting on the well worn stool of the defendant, Darcy turned his attention away from the hedonists seeking the excitement of something more than the Sunday sermon. Head bowed, Darcy took a moment to breathe deeply, slowly cataloging the unfamiliar smells of wood resin, beeswax and musty airs. This was the third day of the trial and Darcy had no idea what further the vultures of the plaintiff wanted, it wasn’t as if the Honorable Mister Barty Verte had been lead on. Darcy had been quite clear in refusal. The man had persisted in paying suit. Even after Henry had forbidden it. 

Henry. 

Darcy banished the thought. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on how Henry and Lizbette Hemmingway, _the_ Hemmingway’s of Hemmingway, were faring through the scandal. Instead, Darcy crossed long stork legs at the knee and clasped pianist fingers overtop. There was a mottled purple black bruise forming along the knuckles. God's grace of fools had been the only reason the bones weren’t a pulpy mess, still each movement sent a renewed ache Darcy ignored with steadfast aplomb. It was hard to muster the required indignation when the gallows were looming in every shadow and every second glance. 

The thought wasn’t a new one. Darcy had known for a decade that life’s journey would end with a stop at the gallows. That was just what society did with people who embraced the strangeness imparted upon them by the devil’s own hand. Darcy had made peace with that well before that one chance meeting on a cold spring morning. 

Pleasure twerked lips upwards in an effort of a smile. It seemed like just yesterday Darcy had been starving and homeless, looking for a way to find just enough to survive a little longer. Chance had dropped hope within reach by the fortuitous meeting of Liz, the elegant foreigner lost upon the wrong set of streets for safety. They had hit it off immediate, speaking of poetry and literature while the sun crested and descended. Ensuring her safely ensconced behind the fortress walls of the Ashfield Central. She had giggled a kiss to Darcy’s cheek that could still be felt when the silence of the jailors became too much.

It had been the beginning of the end and the ride had been well worth it. Darcy would take their secrets to the grave because the world needed more people in it like Henry and Lizbette Hemmingway.


End file.
